


Lucky Handcuffs

by suchabeautifuldisaster



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cute, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 14:42:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6570235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suchabeautifuldisaster/pseuds/suchabeautifuldisaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>wrote this ages ago and FINALLY finished it. now i'm off to do laundry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lucky Handcuffs

Stiles has long since given up on trying to get himself out of the handcuffs. His wrists hurt, fuck, his _feet_ hurt because he’s been standing for over three hours, and the only one who has been through is Parrish, taking one look at Stiles, shaking his head, and leaving almost immediately. Which, _rude._ Then, he was hoping that Mrs. Gunner would hear him from reception and uncuff him, but her hearing has gone from bad to worse over the years.

 

A half hour ago, he thought that she finally heard him hollering and stomping his feet, for she stood up.

 

 _Nope._ She grabbed her purse and bobbed her head along to music that wasn't there, before leaving him in his misery as well-

 

Suddenly here’s a loud, rumbling laugh coming from the door that causes warm tingles to run down Stiles’ spine. He snaps his head up, annoyed amber eyes locking on the one and only Derek Hale standing in the doorway.

 

As in _Deputy_ Hale, with the sexy everything and perfect bed hair and a jaw that could possibly cut glass.

 

The also very sexy Deputy Hale that is a huge asshole and doesn’t laugh at _any_ of Stiles’ jokes and is just… _UGH!_

 

“Shut _up_ ,” Stiles fires back with as much venom he’s got at the moment, but even now, he doesn’t really have any, for it comes out as more of a pitiful whine.

 

An hour ago, he’d still have some, but now he just wants to go back to his apartment and then call his Dad and rant about how he forgot him here.

 

At the police station.

 

Where his Dad _works_.

 

Stiles gets teaching him a lesson and all about throwing out the Sheriff’s junk food stash, but _come on_ , he never thought that someone could be so angry at him trying to prevent future heart attacks!

 

But here he stands, handcuffed to the radiator and the beginnings of a migraine starting to pulse inside his skull.

 

 _Three fucking hours_ later.

 

Dying in embarrassment hasn’t felt this awful since high school, when he asked Lydia Martin to prom and she just raised her manicured brows, put her hands on her hips and stated “Not a chance in hell. But good try, honey.”

 

The Deputy’s laughter doesn’t fade, in fact, his shoulders begin to shake and he has to bend over with it, one of his hands slapping his knee. Stiles puts on his best bitch face and struggles to not focus on how nice and large Derek’s hands are, or the way his uniform shirt is stretching _very nicely_ across his broad shoulders.

 

Everything about him is just nice, actually. Stiles would have better words but every time he looks at Derek’s anything nothing seems to make sense. Hell, the first time he spotted tall, dark and grumpy he walked headfirst into a door. Not even one of his worst moments, actually.

 

It’s part of an all-encompassing problem that Stiles has been struggling and failing miserably to ignore ever since Derek transferred from his old department in New York to Beacon Hills five and a half months ago.

 

And maybe three weeks.

 

 _Maybe._ Stiles wasn’t keeping track or anything.

 

Stiles huffs out an exasperated sigh and leans back against the stupid wall next to the stupid radiator he’s currently confined to. Maybe if he just waits it out and doesn’t say anything, Deputy Hale will stop laughing and uncuff him. And then maybe give him an I’m Sorry I Laughed At You hug.

 

And then kiss him.

 

But this is real life, and Stiles can’t see the older man wanting him that way. _Ever._ Especially since any time the two of them are in the same breathing space as each other, it usually ends in a heated argument that neither of them ever want to back down from.

 

For all that Derek Hale is gorgeous, he is also unfathomably frustrating, making Stiles like him even _more._ Because magnetic attraction to Mr. Meathead wasn’t _enough_ , Stiles was also falling for him, too.

 

After what Stiles thinks is five minutes, the Deputy’s laughter finally fades into chuckles. He straightens up and wipes stray tears from his cheeks. Stiles really, really wants to cross his arms over his chest to look somewhat capable… but oh wait, he _can’t._

 

“Can you just uncuff me so I can go to my apartment?” _And then wallow in self-pity_ , Stiles adds in his head. Deputy Hale tilts his head, the eyes that are a hypnotizing mix of green and gold rake over his body in a way that has Stiles blushing.

 

 _Shit_. Shit shit shit.

 

He’s so fucked, and he wishes it was literally.

 

“I don’t know, I kinda like you like this.” The teasing smirk on Deputy Hale turns into something dangerously smug and the dimple on his right cheek deepens adorably. _Fuck._

 

“Well, that’s kind of messed up, because I don’t _like me_ like this. In fact, I like it when I’m not being held against my will,” Stiles says indignantly and tugs uselessly at the handcuffs for the billionth time. He didn’t even find a damn spare _key_ , and the paper clip Stiles had tried to grab two hours ago managed to slip between the cracks in the floor boards.

 

_Jesus Christ, why is this my life?_

 

“Maybe you’ve committed a crime while I was out on patrol. Maybe you talked someone to death and the Sheriff brought you in because he just had to face the facts: you being annoying as fuck is actually a danger to people."

 

Stiles stares at him in outrage, his jaw dropping. He can’t really help himself for what his motor-mouth says next. “And you’re an arrogant asshole with a stick permanently shoved up your ass. Are we done here?” He pants heavily, face red with humiliation and anger, because Stiles has had _enough._ Of all of this.

 

There’s only so much a Stilinski can take, and being laughed at and taunted by the man of his dreams is enough to send him over the edge of no return. Immediately, Derek’s scruffy face shuts down, all traces of amusement gone, replaced by a blank, stormy mask that fills Stiles with guilt and frustrates him _even more._

 

 _I shouldn’t feel guilty, I haven’t done anything wrong_ , he mentally tells himself, but the way Derek’s soft-looking mouth scowls makes Stiles’ heart ache a little.

 

“Absolutely,” Derek mutters, in front of Stiles in the time it takes for the younger man to blink, his hands on Stiles’ wrists. Stiles’ eyes widen in astonishment, his skin prickling at the feel of Derek’s slightly calloused fingers brushing over the delicate skin.

 

He’s barely able to say “No, wait, _Derek_ -” before there’s the distinct sound of metal clanking to the floor, and Stiles’ realizes, distantly, that he isn’t bound to the fucking radiator anymore. Stiles bites down on his lower lip, looking up from their hands to see Derek’s face, inches away from his own.

 

Stiles has never, _ever_ been this close to Derek’s face before, and now his eyes are hungrily taking in every miniscule detail of the deputy’s face, down to the smattering of freckles on the bridge of his nose, the thick, black flash of Derek’s lashes that would take Stiles hours to count.

 

He gets lost in all of the impossible colors of Derek’s too-pretty eyes and notices that there’s a bit of brown mixed in with his dark stubble.

 

The urge to touch Derek is suddenly unbearable, and it’s only then that Stiles wishes that he was handcuffed, for at least that could restrain him, for he has never been good at controlling himself.

 

To his surprise, Derek looks a little out of it as well, eyes tracking every corner of Stiles’ face as if he’s trying to memorize him, too. That makes Stiles’ blush again, his teeth sinking once more into his lower lip, and with a startled, happy revelation, Derek watches him do it intently, a look of unbridled want that threatens to make Stiles’ knees buckle.

 

_Okay, maybe there’s something here. Maybe… maybe this isn’t just me._

 

It’s only when Stiles gains enough courage to actually raise one of his newly freed hands towards Derek that the deputy breathes harshly through his nose and steps several feet away.

 

“There,” Derek says gruffly, and Stiles wants him back, wants to see where this could go, but anything that Stiles saw in Derek’s face a second ago is gone.

 

Stiles rubs at his wrists absently, a sigh escaping him. “Thank you,” he responds genuinely, his voice going soft in a way Stiles’ never knew he could.

 

Derek grunts at that, the tips of his ears burning red. He’s a blur of motion, and before Stiles can blink he’s at the door, flashing Stiles with impressive shoulders that taper into a well-muscled back. The younger man slumps, crossing his arms over his chest, wanting to say something else, wanting to get Derek to _stay._

 

Stiles wants to know why Derek goes quiet at the mention of house fires and why his thick eyebrows furrow in rage when Allison stops by the station to talk to Stiles’ Dad. He wants to know why Derek takes his coffee black, and he wants to know why Derek sometimes acts like the whole world is waiting to turn on him.

 

Stiles wants to know all of those things about Derek, and more, _all of it_ , and that’s what makes Stiles move.

 

Because he hasn’t felt this way about anyone, and something tells him that he shouldn’t give up on that, because it could just be the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Derek’s at his desk, grabbing his leather jacket when Stiles walks up to him determinedly. The deputy freezes, fisting a hand in his jacket. He doesn’t turn around, but his words carry a weight that Stiles doesn’t even need to see on his features to know they sound defeated.

 

“Stiles, look, I just want to go home-” Stiles maneuvers himself so that he’s able to slip under one of Derek’s massive arms and suddenly he’s all up in Derek’s space, just like before. Derek’s thick eyebrows furrow at him in obvious surprise, tilting his head to stare at him curiously, as if Stiles is a creature he’s still not able to work out.

 

Stiles huffs and places a hand on either side of Derek’s face. “I like you,” he rushes out, and before Derek can respond, Stiles plows on, knowing how insane he sounds but not caring, for once.

 

“I like you. I like the way you don’t put up with my Dad’s shit and you make sure he eats something healthy when the two of you work together. I like that you’ve watched the new Star Wars movie- _don’t start!_ Parrish was blabbing the other day about how Rey shouldn’t even be considered a valued character, and you went off on him for it.” Stiles raises an eyebrow as the tips of Derek’s ears turn red again, his mouth slamming shut, along with his protest.

 

“I like that you fight me on everything and anything, even though it pisses me off. I like that random history shit that you like to spout off, because you’re a giant nerd. I-” Now, Stiles is getting cut off, but this time, it’s because of Derek’s mouth crashing over his own, his bruising kiss swallowing any words that Stiles was going to say.

 

Derek pulls away just as Stiles is realizing that his dreams are coming true and tries to kiss back. He pouts at Derek, who’s staring at him with a mix of exasperation and fondness. “You are such a pain in my ass,” Derek mumbles, slipping a hand through Stiles’ thick hair. Stiles’ eyes close as Derek scratches lightly at his scalp, and hell, the younger man can’t even deem himself to be embarrassed at the sound he makes because _that feels good._

 

“Yeah, but you like it. A lot,” Stiles says through a dopey smile, cracking open an eye to see Derek’s face, very handsome and very close to his own. Derek rolls his eyes, leans forward to kiss Stiles again, this time gentle and almost sweet. “Unfortunately,” he says into Stiles’ mouth, and Stiles grins, arms wrapping around Derek and finally kissing him back.

 

By the time Stiles’ gets back to his apartment, there’s a new number in his phone, two hickeys branded on his neck, and a date for tomorrow.

 

Maybe getting handcuffed to a radiator wasn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened to him.

  
Maybe it was the best, _ever._


End file.
